


At the End of the Day

by sky_reid



Series: A Heart That Hurts is a Heart That Works [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, and some character insight, and... stuff, errrrrr, idek, there's a bath involved, thinky thoughts?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best part of Arthur's day is when he gets to unwind in Merlin's company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> part god only knows which in one of my series, set after everything in it so far, i believe. i have not fogrotten this series i swear.
> 
> written for a friend i made at lj whose birthday was earlier this month.
> 
> i wrote most of this while drunk??? i'm sorry if it makes no sense??

 

_At the End of the Day_

 

Arthur sinks into the warm bath water sending little waves crashing into the walls of the tub and slipping over the edges. He slips underwater for a few seconds, letting the pressure in his ears drown out the noise of the castle, the puttering maids and servants in his room, the bat of footsteps outside his door. It's been a long day, trying and exhausting, and Arthur's whole body aches with the need to rest. There's a headache forming between his temples, a slow but sure throbbing sensation that makes him want to stay underwater where the pain is dulled down, where it almost becomes natural to feel it.

 

He sits up, lets his head fall back to lean on the tub, puts his arms on the sides of it. The air in the room feels cold against his wet skin even with the fire roaring in the fireplace. There's a servant boy standing at the foot of the tub, a washcloth in his hand, waiting to be beckoned over, but Arthur doesn't want his help tonight. He doesn't want anyone's help, anyone's presence, just means to soak in the water, relax; he closes his eyes and waves the servant away. He gives the others a few more minutes to finish their duties or take their cue and leave as well, but when the constant rustle and chatter doesn't stop, he sends everyone away.

 

When the door closes and he's left alone in the silent room, it's the best he's felt all day. Over the years he's been king, he's learnt to appreciate being alone; for him, that's the only time when he can take a deep breath and exhale slowly, enjoying the simple pleasure of being aware of that action, of having the time to focus on just breathing, just being; not being a king, not being a leader, just being. He often misses the years when he could have more time to himself, regrets not having enjoyed this when he could do it more often. He'd been trained to be king since birth, but no one ever taught him how to deal with the pressure of being constantly observed, of his every move being seen and analyzed and judged. The years have not made it easier, and he finds that he is rarely ever relaxed when there's someone there with him. So he cherishes moments like this one, when it's just him in a warm bath and a burning fire, when there's no one to see him, when he doesn't need to worry that he looks tired and worn out, weak.

 

He's not sure how long he stays like that, drifting in the half-catatonic state of exhaustion, letting the warm water envelop his body and soothe away the strain in his muscles, when the door opens, quietly, and then closes mere seconds after. Arthur doesn't feel like moving, doesn't want to get out of the bath or speak to anyone right now, but he feels too exposed to stay the way he is (perhaps exposed is not the right word – he's used to nudity I front of others by now, but these moments he lets himself have in privacy seem somehow too intimate to share, it makes him feel vulnerable when he thinks of someone seeing him like this; there's something oddly personal about the way he unwinds from his day, something that makes him feel like sharing it would be like sharing the essence of himself, putting it out there for everyone to see, and that's something he's never felt comfortable doing with anyone), so he opens his eyes and sits up straighter, lets the room focus around him and looks at the door.

 

Merlin is standing there, his long body folded against the wall, head leaning back but eyes open and not moving from Arthur's face. The expression on his face is carefully neutral, blank, like a mask for a second longer, and then his shoulders relax and his eyes close as he gives an audible exhale and Arthur recognizes that, knows the act and how it feels to keep it up, recognizes in Merlin the same kind of bone-deep exhaustion on more than just the physical level, practically _sees_ as all the layers of Merlin's public identity peel off like clothing, leaving just Merlin, a weary man who needs a moment to rest from the world. Arthur gives him a smile, moves to make room in tub. Without a word, Merlin pushes away from the door, and walks towards him, shedding the layers of his clothing along the way.

 

It strikes Arthur (not for the first time, for they have been together before at these times when everything feels dreamy and slow, when the world melts around them and all that matters is the limited space of Arthur's room and their slow breaths) how natural it feels to let Merlin in, how he doesn't care that Merlin sees him like this, how it actually feels better to have Merlin with him. It doesn't bother Arthur that Merlin gets to see him at his weakest because Merlin already knows him inside out; in many ways, Merlin is a part of him, so Arthur doesn't feel the need to hide from him.

 

The water heats up around him, little bubbles tickling his back pleasantly on their way up to the surface. He smiles at Merlin as Merlin slides into the tub in front of him, settles in between Arthur's legs, his back to Arthur's front. Merlin's head falls on Arthur's shoulder and Arthur's arms wrap around Merlin under the surface of the water, their bodies aligning easily, as if already conditioned to do so.

 

For a long time, neither of them says anything and the only sounds Arthur can hear are their breaths and the fire singing across the room. For years before Merlin's return, these were the sounds that sent him to sleep – the steady breathing a constant reminder that Gwen's sleeping next to him and a fire dying down; for years, nights filled with those sounds felt lonely, they made him think of all the ways his life had gone wrong. Now they feel like home and comfort, they represent the best part of his day, one when he trades his duties and titles for Merlin.

 

Another set of bubbles rises from the bottom of the tub and Merlin makes a surprised noise. “Oh, that's fun,” he says, sounding more like he's conducting an experiment and noting its results than like he's starting a conversation, so Arthur doesn't respond beyond a quiet hum. The bubbles start coming more often after that, in irregular intervals, followed by odd noises from Merlin; Arthur watches his eyes turn gold, watches his eyebrows knit together or his lips spread into a smile – it's like watching a child play, like a glimpse into the past, the time when Merlin was younger and more carefree, when he didn't have scars and when he wasn't trying to pretend that almost a decade of his life never happened. Arthur wonders if this is what it would have been like all the time had he acknowledged Merlin's talents in time, had he reacted differently.

 

He watches Merlin's arms as they run through the water, his fingers as they play in it, looks at the way the muscles in Merlin's arms bunch up and relax with every move and wonders how Merlin became so strong, why he had to. He counts the white faded scars on Merlin's skin and wants to know how each and every of them happened, how much they hurt and why Merlin's magic didn't protect him from whatever made them. He wants to ask about the small ink-coloured marks on the inside of Merlin's right wrist, he wants to find out what they mean and how Merlin made them.

 

But they don't talk about it, not yet; for all the progress they've made, they still pretend none of it ever came to pass, and Arthur still doesn't know what happened in the seven years that passed between the night he banished Merlin from Camelot and the night he found Merlin in the woods near the castle, and he might never know at this rate, but after the damage he caused, he doesn't feel like he deserves to complain, not when Merlin is with him again, not when they're close again. So all he does is kiss Merlin's shoulder and run his hand over Merlin's side underwater, feeling the soft skin under the odd texture of his fingertips wrinkled up from being in the bath for so long.

 

“Long day?” Merlin asks, releasing another set of bubbles and making a face when they, apparently, do something unexpected.

 

“Mmm. Yours?”

 

“I honestly don't know how Gaius handled me for years, I swear those kids will never learn,” Merlin replies, but it sounds more fond than annoyed and Arthur has a feeling that Merlin knows exactly how Gaius survived him all those years ago.

 

“Well, I'm sure Morgana would love to help you out,” Arthur teases, knowing full well Merlin will never agree to it because he's seen Merlin teach, he knows the passion in Merlin's eyes, the thrill he finds in his work, the pride he gets from his students.

 

And Merlin knows that Arthur watches him, that he understands how despite all his complaining, he'd never trade his job for anything, so he doesn't even dignify Arthur with a vocal response, just gives him a dirty look over his shoulder and shoves at his thigh with a hand slowed down by warm water. Arthur laughs quietly, holds Merlin tighter, memorizing what it feels like, just in case he doesn't get another chance.

 

Arthur loves their playful banter, the jokes they share, he always has, and he is grateful that he still gets to have this, but he wishes that he could have more, he wishes he could go back to being able to share everything, truly everything with Merlin again, he wishes he dared ask Merlin everything he wants to know, but he doesn't. He doesn't think that the fragile bond they're rebuilding is strong enough yet for him to push it like that. So he keeps his mouth shut, he holds Merlin when he can, he tries to be satisfied with what he does have. Even when he knows that at the end of the day, Merlin will leave and Arthur will still go to bed alone.

 

But until then, Merlin is here and he is the best part of Arthur's day, so Arthur enjoys his presence while he can, he runs his thumbs over Merlin's hips, he kisses Merlin's neck and Merlin lets him. And while that's less than Arthur wants, he knows it's more than he deserves and certainly more than he expected, so he takes what he can get and when Merlin leaves and Arthur is all alone again, he will lie in bed, imagine what it would be like to have Merlin next to him, wonder if he will ever know and pray to whoever is listening that he does.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :)


End file.
